Cass Alexander – Cover Real – Working With It

Morgan Pottinger is counting the days until graduation. Her plans are to leave small town Kentucky and never look back. As she starts her senior year at Persimmon College, she finds herself the object of Nate Stevenson’s affections. Despite her spaz-like tendencies, Nate makes it clear he wants her. Morgan cannot resist the sexy, intelligent guy that keeps her on her toes and ties her up in knots.

There’s just one problem. Morgan needs to break up with her hometown boyfriend before pursuing anything with Nate. A series of catastrophes back home continuously interfere with her attempts to end the relationship. At this rate, she’ll be married to the loser by March and Nate will be just another casualty in the disaster that is her life. Lucky for Morgan, Nate’s much smarter than she is.

“How was your summer?”

I decide to go with the polite response and say, “Good, thanks.”

It’s not like I can say I spent the summer pretending to like my boyfriend, refusing to touch his man parts, and debating daily if I could order a vibrator online and sneak it past my parents once it landed on the front porch.

I turn to see if Nate’s through the doorway and catch him eying my ass. Well, that’s different.

“Uh, Morgan?”

“Yes?”

“The, uh, the back of your dress …”

Why is he having trouble spitting out words? He’s acting like me, for crissakes. I turn my neck and try to look, but my giant backpack is all I can see.

I take my hand to wipe at the fabric, thinking there must be an insect on it. I hit air, then skin, and then the edge of my underwear. Oh. My. God.

“Shit!” I whisper-yell, frantically pulling at my dress to get it down over my ass.

No wonder my cheeks weren’t sweaty in this humidity. They were getting aired-out.

My brain does a mental checklist of which underwear I have on. Red bikini with the word ‘Monday’ written across the butt. They’re cute, but maybe a little immature. And definitely not for display. Kind of like me.

I chance a look at Nate and I’m shocked at his expression. Nate’s giving me the most heated stare I’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving.

What I wouldn’t give to be on the receiving end of that look for an extended period of time. His girlfriend is so lucky. The bitch.

I try to smother my laugh at my brain’s catty ability to focus on Nate’s girlfriend instead of the mortification I’m currently experiencing, but the snicker comes out anyway.

The corner of his mouth turns up. He must think I’m laughing about the indecent exposure. Good. Run with it, Morgan. It’s not like I don’t know I’m a walking calamity.

“Well, I guess I should thank you for saying something. So, thank you.”

I bow my head and dip a little too low. I look down and can clearly see my cleavage. Which means he can, as well. I straighten quickly and see his eyes on my chest. I’m a damn train wreck today.

“I should probably run away now. Far, far away, before a giant bird of prey swoops down and rips off my dress. Because that seems to be today’s trajectory. Sooo, yeah, I guess I’ll see ya around, Nate.”

I raise my hand and wave, even though he’s five feet from me. I kind of feel like punching myself in the face. Unfortunately, I can’t hit hard enough to knock myself out.

Nate laughs. “You’re funny, Morgan. I like that.”

“Oh, let’s not forget awkward.” I’m not trying to be funny. Awkward shit is just part of my daily life.

Cass Alexander is the pen name of a Southern born and bred public school teacher. Her brother, who insists she address him as, The Prince of Darkness, gave her the nom de plume after warning her that her book’s content may scar her sons for life.

She’s a connoisseur of fine humor, hilarious insults, and all things chocolate, preferably dark (like her humor). Oh, and wine. Let’s not forget the wine. Cass also enjoys running. It’s become crucial to her survival, due to her consumption of wine and chocolate.

Cass’s mission in life is to spread the love and the laughter, goodness knows it’s needed. It’s why she wrote The Persimmon Series.

She and her family now reside in the Midwest, where hardly anyone other than Cass says the words, y’all and holler.